Vertebrae
by Tyger and Darkdracofire
Summary: It's a dream, and he knows it. So there's no reason to give in. No reason to be anything other than honest, for either of them. /Bakura, Thief King Bakura/


For IJ's no_true_pair. Prompt: Bakura and The King of Thieves: "Virtue is its own punishment."

Dreamscape  
By Tyger.

.

He's dreaming. He knows he's dreaming, things don't have this soft, shiny, super-saturated feel to them in the real world. The real world is mainly grey. This world is brown, mud-bricks and sand and the distant gleam of gold, in a pile in a far corner. There's a mummy, too, but it's been crucified to the opposite wall.

Even for the other, that's harsh.

"Hello, Bakura Ryou," says a voice, from the gold-heaped corner. He's dark-skinned, and in red; somehow, he blends right in.

"You," says Bakura, softly, because he knows that voice. He hears it in his head, all the time, only it's not his own voice.

"You do not seem happy to see Me, landlord," says the other, smiling with teeth.

"I hate you," he says, and means it.

"Why?" he asks, smirking. "I grant you your wishes. You protest them so, but I grant them anyway." He seems to find it more amusing than anything.

"You deliberately misinterpret what I want, and you know it," Bakura says. It can't be anything but true. It can't be.

"Do I?" the other asks, mocking.

"You do." There's no room for doubt, not in his mind. Not in this.

"Well, at least you are secure in your beliefs," he says, smiles, underhanded and sly. "Come here."

"Why?" What does this other _want_ with him? Can't he just leave him alone?

"Why not? It's only a dream, after all. You probably won't even remember, when you wake up."

"If that's so... make me," he says. He can be strong here, at least. There's no soul riding on it but his own, so it doesn't matter if he tries, and fails.

The other stares at him, for a long, incredulous moment, before throwing his head back and _laughing_. "Oh, yes. You _do_ have a spine, after all. How cute." **bring him here**, he says, to the dark, and the dark listens, wraps itself around him, draws him close. He doesn't bother fighting; this is a dream, and he can feel the inevitability.

The other arranges him, on his pile of gold, with his head in his lap, and starts draping jewellery all over him. The dark holds him fast, so all he can do is watch.

"You are," says the other, "quite interesting. You could be such fun." He runs the edge of a gold coin down Bakura's face. It's well-worn with age, almost soft. "Tell me," says the other, leaning in. "Do you think you are a good person?"

"I - yes," he says, because if there's one thing he tries to be, at all times, it's that. His body might be used for evil, but he, at least, is pure.

"Truly? And yet, you're miserable," he says, flicking the coin idly.

"I'm not-" The other looks at him, eyebrow raised, and he sighs. "It's not my fault."

"No? Well, perhaps. There are always some things you can do nothing about," the other says, face distant. "But you are at school, like all people your age, yet you have no friends. How is this not your fault?"

"That's not true," he says. "I have-"

"They," the other interjects, "are not your friends. They are your enemies, and keep you close so they know what you are doing."

"That's not just it. And they only look out because _you tried to kill them_, you know."

"It was _your_ wish. Or it would have been."

"You-" The other silences him with a hand over his mouth, and looks across the room, to where the mummy is crucified, a faint smile on his face.

"You know," he says, "I thought I was a good person once. Maybe I broke a few laws to do it, but that was part of My culture, and I did what was _morally_ right. The priests didn't like that, though. There was nothing _they_ could do about it, but they hated, oh they _hated_ that _anyone_ could have a righteous reason, to defile a corpse - to _kill the living god_. They hated Me _so much_, but _I was right_, and _I was a good son_. And yet I still end up like this, trapped in darkness and _hating_, because they _took My vengeance away_." He's all but snarling, at the last, eyes burning, fingers digging into Bakura's skin.

Bakura doesn't say anything, eyes wide and breath short.

"So, Bakura Ryou," he says, calming enough to smile at him, dark and mocking. "Do you still wish to be a good person?" He even takes his hand off Bakura's mouth, so he can answer.

"Yes," he says, secure in this belief, if nothing else.

"You'll suffer for it," says the other, voice mocking.

"That doesn't mean it's wrong," he says, because truly. Perhaps the world is a cruel place, but trying to make it better _can't_ be the wrong thing to do. It just can't be.

The other laughs, dark and low, truly amused. "Then, we are of a like mind, Bakura Ryou," he says, leaning in close, so their noses almost touch. He tugs, absently, at one of the gold necklaces he'd draped over Bakura's head. "Perhaps that is inevitable. Perhaps not." He stands, abruptly, tall and cold and regal, shoves Bakura off his horde, darkness holding him down suddenly gone. "Now, go."

.

He wakes, and doesn't remember dreaming. But throughout everything, he continues to try and be a good person, no matter what happens.

He suffers for it.


End file.
